Immediately, the Chinaman became voluble. He leaned across the counter and bragged in singsong English.
"My namee Moy Ming," he proclaimed. "Me do washee better than other Chinee boy. Better than any Melican laundlee. You lookee. I show you."
Moy Ming seemed genuinely anxious to make a new customer. He lifted a curtain that hung in a small doorway and nudged his thumb toward washing machines in a lighted rear room. He wanted to show Harry his equipment; and Harry decided to take a look. It was a good way to get acquainted with Moy Ming.
Harry stepped through the doorway and Moy Ming followed. The Chinaman paused to slip the curtain back in place. His action was natural; Harry did not suspicion it. But he heard something that puzzled him. It was a scraping noise, from that same doorway.
Harry turned. He saw Moy Ming's fingers on a button. A heavy door was sliding shut to block the exit. It was on the inside of the curtain which kept it hidden from the front room. Moy Ming was transforming this rear room into a prison.
MOY MING'S one mistake was remaining inside the room with Harry. The Chinaman expected trouble on that score; for he whipped out a knife as Harry turned toward him. Moy Ming was quick; but Harry outspeeded him.
Before Moy Ming could threaten with the knife, Harry had pulled an automatic. Moy Ming recoiled as Harry covered him. That was just what Harry wanted. He jabbed his free hand for the Chinaman's wrist and caught it with an expert wrench. The knife bobbled to the floor.
Moy Ming tried to squirm away. Harry tugged the Chinaman's arm in back of him and bent the laundryman to the floor. Eye to eye with the ugly fellow, Harry demanded:
"Who sent you to Shark Meglo?"
Moy Ming grimaced. He tried to show ignorance. Harry's grip tightened on the Chinaman's arm. Moy Ming writhed his lips and uttered inarticulate sounds as if too tortured to phrase the name that Harry wanted.
Harry sensed fakery in the Chinaman's method; but he thought that Moy Ming was merely trying to stave off the necessary answer.
Moy Ming was smarter than Harry guessed.
That gurgle was a cover-up for more than Moy Ming's thoughts. Uttered in Harry's ear, the sound drowned other noises. Big washing machines were being slowly shoved from their corners. Moy Ming could see them; but they were behind Harry's back.
Moy Ming gulped frantically. This time it was a signal.
Two huge Mongols bobbed from their hiding places behind the washing machine. They were no longer cautious, for they were close enough to make a sure attack.
Harry heard them as they sprang. He pitched Moy Ming to the floor and swung to meet his new adversaries. The Mongols were weaponless; they were depending upon their big hands to smother Harry to the floor.
In that instant Harry made a good copy of The Shadow's fading tactics. With a twist, he was away from the clawing hands. Backed to the corner beside the closed door, Harry dropped to one knee and aimed his gun at the attacking pair. He would have had time to drop them in their tracks, had it not been for Moy Ming.
Sprawled almost at Harry's elbow, the Chinaman propped himself quickly with his hands and reared his head like a striking serpent. His wide-opened mouth descended upon Harry's gun hand. Teeth sank into Harry's fist. Moy Ming shook his head to one side and carried Harry's aiming hand along.
Before Harry could offset Moy Ming's tactics, the Mongols landed. Harry sprawled upon the floor; his gun slipped from his hold. Moy Ming's bite eased up. There would be no more trouble from Harry Vincent. Disarmed, The Shadow's agent was helpless in the grip of two formidable foemen.
ARMS pinned behind him, Harry was shoved to his feet. Staring toward the rear of the room, he saw a door open. Into the light stepped Shark Meglo, followed by a pair of thugs - new followers whom he had recently recruited.
Seeing that Harry was helpless, Shark motioned the two outside. When they had gone, he bolted the heavy door.
Harry realized that Shark must have spotted him outside of Moy Ming's old place; that it was Shark who had faked the shoemaker's call. What Harry could not figure was how Shark had learned that he lived at the Hotel Metrolite.
Shark had gained that news by a telephone call to Henshew's apartment, soon after he had received the inscribed half dollar from his chief. The message had said for Shark to handle Harry. All Shark needed was word where to find the victim.
To Harry Vincent, such facts were unimportant at the moment. He could see the murderous glint of Shark's eyes; he knew that killer again intended to deliver death. This time, Harry was to be the victim; and doom seemed a certainty.
In the past, Harry had been pulled from snares like this; but always, rescue had come from The Shadow.
This capture had come during The Shadow's absence. Any chance that Harry might have for life, would have to arrive without The Shadow's action.
CHAPTER XI. CROSSED THRUSTS
SHARK MEGLO did not intend prompt death for Harry. That was apparent through the orders that he gave to Moy Ming and the Mongols. Moy Ming became active, while the big captors still gripped their prisoner.
As Harry stared, he saw Moy Ming pull two broad ironing-boards from the wall and set them end to end.
Next came big clothes-wringers. Grinning like an ape, the Chinaman clamped the wringers to the far ends of the boards. Shark dug in a corner and found some odd lengths of rope. He brought them to Harry's captors. Aided by Shark, the Mongols began to tie the prisoner.
Harry started a valiant battle. Moy Ming had to pitch in, clawing furiously, before The Shadow's agent could be subdued. At last, Harry lay prone on the floor, under the bulk of the Mongols, while Shark and Moy Ming tied his wrists and ankles.
That done, the Mongols hoisted the prisoner and laid him face upward on the ironing-boards. They held him stretched on the improvised table while Shark affixed the wrist ropes to one wringer, and Moy Ming attached the ankle cords to the other. Both wound the wringers until the ropes were taut.
Harry could feel the strain. His ankles were drawn one direction, his arms pulled full length above his head, were stretched the opposite way. Moy Ming, Shark's crafty tool, had transformed ordinary laundry equipment into one of the most terrible of torture devices.
Ironing-boards and wringers made a rack, of the sort used in the Middle Ages.
Shark turned the wringers over to the big Mongols. With Moy Ming beside him, Shark went to the center of the room and viewed Harry's strained face. The snarl that Shark gave was not pleasant. He raised two fingers; wagged them, so the Mongols could see. The huskies slowly tightened the wringers, each in an opposite direction.
Harry's arms tugged at their sockets. His ankles felt ready to crack. Shark stopped his wigwag. The men at the wringers locked them in place and awaited further orders.
"Don't feel so good, does it?" sneered Shark, as he faced Harry. "A little tighter, it'll feel worse. That's what you'll be getting, bozo, if you don't talk!"
Despite his strain, Harry managed a blank look. Shark gave a guffaw.
"Don't try to kid me," he snorted. "You were at Silsam's! So was The Shadow! You were working for him! Maybe you know who he is. I'd like to know, too."
Harry chewed his lips. He knew what silence meant; more torture, until his bones would snap. Moy Ming had hooked the ironing-boards so that they would not buckle under strain. The clothes-wringers were heavy enough to haul a ton weight, under the leverage that the big Mongols could give the long handles.
Harry felt that he was through. The sooner death came, the better. The best way to start the finish was to ignore Shark Meglo.